


Silvered Sight

by Gryphonrhi



Series: Advent Amnesty Stories [10]
Category: Haven (TV), Highlander (Movies), Highlander: The Series
Genre: AU, Advent Amnesty, Gen, Horror Eventually, I reserve the right to finish this!, Spook Me Multi-Fandom Halloween Ficathon, WIP, crossovers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-17
Updated: 2016-12-17
Packaged: 2018-09-09 03:23:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8873848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gryphonrhi/pseuds/Gryphonrhi
Summary: The good news is, Haven has a new bookstore.  The bad news is, they also have a new psychologist.  It's Haven.  Either of these could go very wrong.





	

In the middle of the candlelit room, an old oak table supported a mass of mirrors suspended in a silver fretwork. 

It might not be silver; none of it was tarnished. Someone had spun the metal into a framework of varying widths, one that incorporated pieces ranging from dime-sized to half a yard long. The pieces came in every shape, too: rounded ones that were circular and oval and one that looked like it had been based on a nautilus; edged ones with any number of sides from the simple (triangular, squared, rectangular) up to one with more edges than the eye could track in this light. A few of the pieces had apparently been free-formed, looking half-molten and variable in thickness.

The whole thing glimmered in the candlelight, shadows flickering and flowing across the mirrors, light and dark and fog moving across the mirrors. The end result looked like time-lapse photography of waterfalls or fog rolling in.

The candles never flickered.

~-~-~

Dave Teagues stopped to look at the gold lettering being applied to the window from the inside. Sensible. Apparently the new owner did have some idea about coastal Maine weather. Parchment & something, hmm? Well, he'd find out on his way out if nothing else.

The sign on the door, however, said 'Open' and books once again filled the tables and shelves of the former antiques store. Good, they'd missed having a bookstore in Haven. "Drat Amazon," Dave muttered. "It's just not the same as browsing."

A bell chimed sweetly as he came in. The weather mat under his feet was nicely sturdy, the place already smelled of books and lemon oil, and a pair of golden retrievers looked up and over from their beds by the fireplace, ears pricking up and tails wagging briefly. They also put their heads back down with identical weary flops. 

Dave chuckled and wandered his way through the tables and shelves, stopping to shake his head over the requisite '50 Shades' display. The other books piled around it included a better quality of erotica, which made him laugh, and covered four centuries of writing, which drew a 'hrrm' of surprise.

"Coffee?" asked an amused voice.

Dave turned to see if he'd found the new shop-keeper. A moderately tall, sandy-haired man held out a mug of coffee. One look at him told Dave this one was smart and still entertained by something.

He took the mug, however. "Oh, I'm a newsman. We live on coffee."

That got a laugh. "Black as ink, light as paper, or sweet as a scoop?"

Dave sipped it and sighed. "Coffee like this is just fine black. You, however, are clearly an evil man," he said appreciatively. 

"For that? Give me time, I'll think of a bad journalism joke for the chocolate too." He held out his now-free hand. "Connor MacLeod. How far wrong would I be if I thought you must be one of the Teagues?"

Dave shook his hand. "Not wrong at all. I'm Dave Teagues. I'm sure Vince will be by later, but save the jokes for me, hmm? I've got a better sense of humor laugh more than he does. That and this coffee will give me an excuse to come browse again." 

He looked around the room again, shelves and tables full of books, book posters, coffee mugs, coffee, and a small selection of magazines. "I may hate myself for saying this, but you'll probably lose money if you carry this much stock in a town this size."

"We're likely the largest bookstore between here and Bangor. We'll get some out of town traffic because of it." He shrugged. "And for the special orders, and the coffee. If business is slow, I can do my other work from the desk. But we can take a certain amount of loss the first year or two; we budgeted for it."

"Well, we're certainly glad to have you here." Dave gave the man his best friendly, inquiring look. "We? What brings you to Haven? And what's your other work?"

Connor chuckled. "My sister and I. She's been in a small town on the northwest coast; I've been in a large city on this coast. We thought we'd try a small town on the northeast coast for a while." 

"Well, I've got to say, the winters here are quite a bit different from… what? Portland? Seattle?" Dave sipped his coffee again -- it really was that good; Vince was going to be in here all hours of the day trying to get her supplier's name -- and put on his best ingenuous, expectant look.

Connor just raised an eyebrow. "You're not that subtle. She was between them and got itchy feet. But she lived in Syracuse for a few years, and I spent some time outside Boston. Keep spare food, flashlights, and logs in the house in case of power failures and snowstorms?"

"And kitty litter in the trunk, plus a snow shovel." Dave nodded. "But if she coped with Syracuse snow, you should be fine." He paused as what looked like a dog-shaped pony came up and delicately head-butted Connor's hand. "What in the world is that?"

"An Irish wolfhound. In this case, one in search of lunch." He chuckled. "Call when you're ready to check out. I'd best feed Donal and pay my window artist."

Dave glanced over automatically; reverse print was hardly difficult after years of printing machines. "Parchment & Mocha?" Well. That didn't explain the dogs, or maybe it did. Petting dogs went well with coffee. 

Wondering about it was a good excuse to come for coffee on a regular basis, at least.

~-~-~

Duke turned when the door to the Grey Gull chimed. He'd meant to lock that, damn it. His eyes narrowed when he didn't recognize the visitor, either.

"The sign said waffles?" The tall, slim black man raised a questioning eyebrow and an open hand simultaneously. "Sorry, man. Not as open as I thought, huh?"

"Waffles, huh?" Duke shrugged. "Yeah, sure. Not your fault I didn't lock up. Although, for future reference? Bar. We open for lunch."

"Waffles for lunch around here, got it," the guy said soberly, but his eyes were laughing about it. "Want me to wander back out, come back by for dinner instead? You'd make more off me then, what with the comparative charges for tacos instead of waffles."

Duke grinned. "Now there speaks a man who's worked in the food industry."

"I made my spending money through college doing bar set-up outside Seattle," he agreed and came forward, one hand coming out of his jacket pocket. "Marc Scipio. Nice to meet you."

"Duke Crocker. Seattle, huh? Gotta warn you, the weather here's a little different." Duke considered, shrugged. "What the hell, I need breakfast, too. I didn't hear a car?"

"Oh, that's why I stopped for the waffles," Marc said cheerfully. "I was running, got busy thinking about a work problem, and looked up and saw your place. And my watch." He grinned. "I don't mind running back, but breakfast first sounded like a much better idea."

"Running. You ran here from town?" Duke shook his head. "Pull up a stool. Coffee, bacon, and waffles it is."

"Hey, you're not that far out."

Duke snorted. "Sure, I'm not. I can see sweat from here."

"You're that far from where I started, sure, but it's not your fault I was on the far side of town." Marc grinned. "And I like running."

"I do it, but it's in case of need, you know?" Duke dug into the fridge and pantry for makings and plugged in the wafflemakers. "I'm more of a tai chi and yoga kinda guy."

"Oh, yeah, tai chi's great at our height. Keeps me from knocking my head on things, anyway," Marc agreed. "But yeah. When they're chasing, it's good to be able to run." Duke raised an eyebrow and got a grin in return. Marc just said, "I won't ask if you don't."

Duke grinned back. "Deal. So? When are you due at work? You might need to call for a ride back if you're staying for breakfast."

Marc checked his watch and shook his head. "It's my late day. I'm good."

"What, you start late on Tuesdays?" Duke passed him the bowl of dry ingredients. "Here, stir this."

"Oh, if I wander in early and admit I know bars, I get put to work?" Marc started stirring anyway and shrugged. "I won't leave before eight tonight, so yeah. Group sessions to lead."

"Uh-huh." Duke beat eggs into milk while the butter melted. "What kind of groups?"

Marc raised an eyebrow. "Group therapy. Headshrinker, sorry."

"Yeah, you're gonna be busy around here." Duke added firmly, "No shrinking mine unless I ask for it."

Marc raised an eyebrow. "One? Not a patient of mine. Two? I've been known to offer unsolicited advice, but you can always ignore it. And three? Defensive, much? That was just about red flag in front of a bull subtle, Duke."

"I just like to get these things clear early," Duke said firmly. He snagged the bowl back, added the liquids, and asked, "One waffle or two?"

"Two," Marc said cheerfully. "I'll work it off later and I haven't had waffles in weeks. We're still unpacking some things and working on the house to move and unpack the rest."

"We?" Duke poured batter in and started layering paper towels and bacon for the microwave. "Sorry, no time for the skillet version today."

"Hey, you're making me breakfast when you're closed. I'm good." Duke turned back from the microwave and found Marc behind the bar with him, checking out the coffee maker. "Huh. Right. Give me a sec… pass the cinnamon, would you? And the mace."

Duke handed them over, one eyebrow up, and watched as Marc sniffed the coffee already in the filter, shook his head, and added cinnamon, mace, and cocoa powder. Marc pointed to the red pepper. "My hands are still a mess. Add a few grains, would you?" He turned to wash his hands, though.

Duke shook his head but sprinkled a few grains into his palm. "More, less? If you kill a pot of coffee, we're going to have words."

Marc glanced over. "Yeah, that's about right. Go for it. And this is nothing. When I start the full cardamom, coriander, cinnamon, fresh nutmeg, ginger, and red pepper, okay, then you can yell. Unless you like curry, that is." 

"So you lure people onto your couch with coffee, huh?" Duke asked him, deadpan.

Marc was still laughing when Audrey walked in and gave Duke a 'Who's this?' look. Then she sniffed. "Okay, what'd you do to the coffee, Duke, and don't drink it all before I get back with my mug."

Duke snorted and pulled out a travel mug. "I didn't. Audrey Parker, Marc… Scipio, you said?"

Marc nodded. "That's me. Nice to meet you."

Audrey had her hair up in a ponytail and a shirt and jacket over the t-shirt; headed to a crime scene, Duke diagnosed, and hoped like hell she wasn't going to want him to come 'help' with a Trouble. She took a sip of the coffee and her eyes widened. "Okay, yeah, you can make coffee here anytime, Marc."


End file.
